


scheherazade

by and_hera



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Christmas (Baby Please Come Home), F/M, Hopeful Ending, Inspired by Richard Siken, Introspection, M/M, Not As Much Sammy And Lily Dynamic As The Author Wanted, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Sammy Stevens Continues To Be Depressed AND Repressed!, but it's fine, no beta we die like the son of god when he falls off the roof of a burger king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23883838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/and_hera/pseuds/and_hera
Summary: Who is Sammy Stevens? Ben asks all the right questions. Who is Sammy Stevens? Sammy Stevens is a man with a ring in his pocket driven into him like a bullet and there is no way to pry it out now. Sammy Stevens is a loud man who smiles a lot and does not let anyone else see him bleed.or, Sammy Stevens realizes that he can be allowed to hope.
Relationships: Ben Arnold & Sammy Stevens, Ben Arnold/Emily Potter, Emily Potter & Sammy Stevens, Sammy Stevens & Lily Wright, Sammy Stevens/Jack Wright
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	scheherazade

**Author's Note:**

> obviously inspired by scheherazade by richard siken, and if you haven't read his poems, get on that!! his work is fantastic and this one gave me enough inspiration to throw this up  
> i also wrote this while listening to sleeping at last's cover of christmas (baby please come home) so think of that what you will  
> guys this is so dramatic i'm sorry  
> i hope you enjoy! comments and kudos are HUGELY appreciated xoxo

_Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake_

_and dress them in warm clothes again._

A Christmas song starts to play, and Sammy is so unbelievably happy.

“It’s New Year’s Eve, not Christmas,” he chides Jack, but he doesn’t mean it, because Jack is _here_ , smiling and being himself again. 

Jack shrugs. “I think it’s perfectly good music,” he replies, and Sammy has to agree. “ _The church bells in town, all ringing in song_ ,” he sings quite badly, and Sammy laughs. “ _Full of happy sounds_ ,” Jack continues, and Sammy sings along with him for the last line: “ _Baby, please come home_.”

Because, well, isn’t that fitting?

_How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running_

_until they forget they are horses._

There is a ring in Sammy’s pocket.

There is a ring in Sammy’s pocket always, and it sits there, heavy. It does not move when Sammy moves and it does not clink against the loose change that often finds its way alongside it but it weighs him down as surely as a great stone. It makes him remember because he cannot afford to forget.

He does not remove the ring, does not think about it ever, because to think about it is to think of Jack and thinking of Jack in any way other than a man who is missing is the surest way to crack. The surest way to crumble. And, see, Sammy doesn’t know whether he’ll be able to put the pieces back together without Jack’s hands to help.

There is a ring in Sammy’s pocket always, and only in moments when he thinks he might forget the shade of gold Jack’s eyes turn- turned- in the sun or when he might forget the way his chin dimples- dimpled- while grinning does he brush his fingers against the cold, unforgiving metal.

The ring is not fancy and it has no gemstone because it had to be small enough to fit on a chain around his neck for work. It is beautiful, though. Sammy loves it. Loved it. 

The ring used to be hope, used to be joy, used to be a world where Jack Wright and Sammy Stevens made it out of there and were okay and had a life together. It used to be what life _could_ be, used to be what Sammy would cling to when he couldn’t keep his head straight, when he couldn’t take one more night at that radio station.

It is not hope. Not anymore.

Who is Sammy Stevens? Ben asks all the right questions. Who is Sammy Stevens? Sammy Stevens is a man with a ring in his pocket driven into him like a bullet and there is no way to pry it out now. Sammy Stevens is a loud man who smiles a lot and does not let anyone else see him bleed.

Jack Wright always loved stories, always loved tales of love and loss, of ghosts. It is fitting he became one.

The story of Orpheus and Eurydice. A boy who played beautiful music and girl who wasn’t much of anything- but oh, she was loved.

And the girl died, tragically, and though the only place she ever truly belonged was the boy’s heart, it was left gaping and empty and he would do anything to fill it again. So he went, and he found her, and he almost saved her and he failed. Not even to any fault of his own. Just rotten luck. Just a step behind.

She turned to a ghost before his eyes, disappearing for good.

Who is Sammy Stevens? Well, he hesitates to name himself a hero in any story, especially his own, but he must be Orpheus, right? Maybe Jack Wright didn’t turn into a spectre before his eyes, but he left the car running, right?

Orpheus and Eurydice, ghosts and goodbyes. Sammy never liked that story anyway.

_It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,_

_it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,_

_how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance_

It’s not that Sammy doesn’t trust Ben. It’s that he doesn’t know how to tell him something like this.

Ben catalogues his love so loudly, so thoroughly. Sammy doesn’t know how to describe it. Ben Arnold is a bright, excitable man and clearly no one ever told him to use his indoor voice (or if they did, he didn’t listen). He expresses his joys and his sorrows and it is a beautiful thing, Sammy decides.

But Ben has clearly decided Sammy is one to be on the receiving end of his affections. And it- it is nicer than anything Sammy has felt in so, so long. Sammy has never been so happy to talk with someone on the air since, well, since it was him and Jack and Lily. SammyJackLily, the three-headed monster. 

But now it’s Sammy and Ben, the SammyAndBen show, and Sammy thinks he likes it. He has a friend, again.

And without Ben’s care, without his love and kindness and outbursts and stammering, Sammy thinks he might drown.

So, Sammy can’t tell him. He can’t. 

And his own (quite poor) research has led him to the not yet open King Falls Library, not yet run by Miss Emily Potter, but almost.

They’re meeting at Rosa’s, and it’s a nice day outside, and Sammy can’t stop his own mind from whirling with ways to disguise exactly who he is searching for.

“Mr. Stevens?” A young woman asks, and Sammy’s head snaps up. She’s young, closer to Ben’s age than Sammy’s, but she has a friendly. face.

“Sammy,” he corrects, and shakes her hand as she slides into the seat across from him at the little table he claimed. “You’re Miss Potter, I assume?”

“Emily,” she corrects, and smiles. “It’s nice to meet you! I’ve heard you and Ben on the radio several times now, and it’s always so fun to listen to!”

Sammy returns the smile. “Do you know Ben?”

“No, sadly,” she says, and her voice indicates that this is actually something sad. “I grew up in Big Pine, so I don’t really know anyone my age here, even though I think we were in the same graduating class.”

“Is Big Pine _that_ much different than King Falls, though,” Sammy asks, trying for a joke. “I mean, it’s the same empty fields.”

Emily laughs at that, her voice light. “You would think,” she replies, “but surprisingly not. Big Pine has a _much_ different vibe. Much less… well, you remember your first night, I assume. Much less Tim Jensens. Not- not that that’s anything to compare a town to,” she stammers, trying to convey her point.

“No, I get it,” Sammy says, and he shoves the thoughts of panic when he heard Tim disappear on air and couldn’t stop thinking about _what if that happened to my Jack-_ to the back of his mind. “King Falls is… interesting, to say the least.”

“Good to know you aren’t _entirely_ a skeptic,” Emily laughs, and when Sammy gives her a look, she flushes. “Maybe I listen to almost all of your broadcasts,” she confesses, and Sammy grins.

“I’m glad we have some fans,” he says. “To be honest, I doubted anyone was listening. It _is_ quite late at night.”

“What did Ben call it, once?” she muses. “‘Ass o’clock?’ That sounds like something he would say.”

Amused: “You aren’t wrong.”

Bright: “Ben doesn’t quite know how to talk on the radio yet, does he?”

Considering: “Well, you aren’t wrong there, either. He’s learning, though, and he’s a damn fine producer.”

Agreeable: “Of course! Really, he’s my favorite part of the broadcasts. With his little outbursts- they’re all so funny! No offense, Sammy.”

Laughing: “None taken. He is quite loud, isn’t he?”

Delighted: “He is. It’s endearing, though.”

Solemnly: “You’re right. Somehow, he sneaks into your heart and finds a way to hide. It isn’t too hard, since he’s so short.”

Emily laughs, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Well,” she says, “you _did_ ask for my help, right? Not just to tease poor Ben, who I still haven’t even met.”

Sammy quiets. “Yes,” he says carefully. “I was- well, I was wondering. You’re the King Falls librarian, even if the library isn’t quite open yet.”

“That I am,” Emily says.

“You probably know more about the town than most.”

“That I do,” Emily says.

“I was just thinking- do you know anything about missing people? Maybe in the last few months.”

Something passes over Emily’s face, and Sammy can’t tell if it’s confusion or pity. “Well,” she says, “with the looming exception of Tim Jensen, we haven’t had a missing person that wasn’t one of Archie’s pomchis in a few years.”

“Oh,” Sammy says.

“Are you- are you looking for someone in particular?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says simply, because he doesn’t think he’s able to lie outright about Jack anymore. Lie by omission, sure. But he doesn’t _want_ to. He wants to shout out loud about Jack, Jack Wright, the man he was going to marry, the man who is missing, the man who was and is and will always be a mystery.

Emily tilts her head to the side. “Do you know if they went missing here or somewhere nearby? Because I don’t think we’ve lost anyone lately, though I can always check again-”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Sammy says, voice far more easygoing than his mind. “It- it was a stupid thought. I didn’t think he- don’t worry about it, Emily. Thank you anyway.”

Emily, very carefully, puts a hand on Sammy’s. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” she says quietly. “I hope you find them. If I can do anything to help-”

“Don’t- don’t talk about this to anyone,” Sammy cuts in, closing his eyes. “I- I just can’t.”

“Okay,” she replies easily, and she squeezes his hand. “I’ll let you know if I find anything out about a missing person lately, okay?”

Sammy nods mutely, and she’s gone.

He leaves shortly after, and he decidedly does not think about Jack.

_and the days_

_were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple_

_to slice into pieces._

Sammy remembers that night.

He remembers the dim lights of the shitty radio station they were in, he remembers being young and full of life, being twenty-three and listening to his best friend monologuing about love.

Sammy Stevens was ready to talk about sports that night, was ready to go on about this and that, to snark at and/or with Lily and to tease Jack and to be a regular guy who isn’t half in love with his best friend and shoving the feelings so far back in his mind that he isn’t able to process them himself.

But there is Jack Wright, boy in the shape of a man, kind and sweet and fucking hilarious, interrupting him and ruining the schedule to talk about love. Love!

He remembers staring at Jack across the table every time he said That Word and Jack meeting his gaze every. single. time.

And he thought suddenly that maybe this pain in his chest wouldn’t just be a passing thing.

Love had never been a kind thing. It was his mother and his father giving him the things he needs to survive and not much on the side, and then it was his mother and father telling him not to come home if he was going to continue “his way of life.” It was looking at a boy and forcibly dragging his eyes away because _oh God what if he notices I can’t let him see_ -

It was looking at Jack in the sunlight after their shows, seeing him squint in the bright contrast to their dark rooms and watching the light make his dark eyes turn molten gold. It was wanting to tear his beating heart out of his chest just to escape this fucking _terrifying_ feeling when he wanted to card his hands through Jack’s thick curls. But if that was the price of loving Jack Wright? Well. Sammy has known pain before, and it hasn’t come with anything as sweet as this.

But the interesting thing is, when Jack finally (finally!) kissed Sammy, and it was later that morning and Lily was waiting in the car to head back to the apartment and Jack met his eyes with some ferocity in them that Sammy had never seen before- the angry coil of something like love between his ribs unknotted, just a little. 

Sammy had never known a love like his for Jack Wright. Sammy had never known that love didn’t have to hurt.

Jack kissed him and the lights were dim and a purple-ish color and Sammy dropped his headset that was still in his hands and kissed Jack back with everything that was left in him to give. And he thought that oh God, there’s no going back from this one, great job Stevens now things will be weird and wrong and Jack certainly doesn’t like you the way you like him and Lily will never be okay with it-

Jack pulled back, said, “Hey, Sam,” and pushed a strand of Jack’s hair back behind his ear. “Do you-”

“Yes,” Sammy replied, not entirely knowing the question but knowing enough that he will never say no to Jack Wright.

“Okay,” Jack said, and he kissed Sammy again as if to prove he could (he could!) and gave him a look so beautiful it hurt. “Okay. Do you want-”

“Yes,” Sammy said again, “I want- I want it all, if that’s what-

“Yes, me too, I-” Jack cut himself off, looking to the side and smiling something awful. “I didn’t think you-”

“Same goes for you.”

“Jesus, we’re pathetic.”

“Right you are.” Sammy kissed Jack’s neck as if to prove he could (he could!) and unceremoniously dropped his forehead on Jack’s shoulder. “Jack Wright,” he said, “I don’t quite know where to go from here, but I would like to figure it out.”

Jack kissed the back of Sammy’s head, put his arms around Sammy’s waist. “Me too,” he said. “What I was saying earlier, about-”

“Yeah,” Sammy agreed, not wanting to have to face that word yet. “I know I’m not the greatest at valuing myself, but I will try my fucking hardest.”

“You know I’m the same.”

“I do.”

Jack hummed. “Do you think Lily’ll be pissed that we’re late?”

“She’ll probably assume I finally made one too many smartass remarks,” Sammy scoffed, “and you finally went and offed me. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, either.”

Jack laughed quietly, as if not wanting to disturb the peace, and he pushed Sammy’s head off of his shoulder so he could kiss him again. “We can talk about this tomorrow, yeah?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” Sammy replied, and laced his fingers through Jack’s. “I wonder if Lily will notice.”

“Probably. You know she has a sort of sixth sense for gay shit.”

“Is that what this is?”

“A technical term.”

Sammy laughed, and everything was right with the world.

And of _course_ Sammy remembers.

He doesn’t know if Lily is aware that was _the_ night, or if she just found an old tape about love that fits terribly into what he needs to hear, but he remembers it vividly.

He vaguely hears Ben say that they’re cutting to commercial because _Jesus_ , they’re still live, and he vaguely realizes that he’s crying. 

“Hey,” Ben says, and Sammy looks up at his best friend, one of the few people in this world Sammy knows for sure that he absolutely loves, and smiles. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Sammy says, and he can’t keep the brightness from his voice, despite the tears. “It’s just- that was _him_ , Ben. Jack _fucking_ Wright. Talking about loving yourself instead of sports.”

“I mean, I get that,” Ben replies, and he’s smiling too. “Sports are-”

“Not your expertise.”

“Exactly.”

A beat. “I miss him,” Sammy says simply, open for once in his goddamn life. “He- he was the first person I really loved.”

“I’m sorry you had no one there before,” Ben whispers, and Sammy loves him, loves him so much. His brother.

“I’m glad you’re here now,” Sammy says, and he means it.

_Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means we’re inconsolable._

There is a ring on Sammy’s finger.

And his hands are shaking quite badly, to be honest, and his heart is pounding quite loudly in his chest, but there is a ring on Sammy’s finger and it’s no longer a weight. It’s a relief.

Maybe the ring can mean hope, again. Maybe.

He doesn’t really know why he’s shaking. He isn’t _afraid_ , not really. The only person in the room with him tonight will be Ben Arnold, and he trusts Ben with his life. He knows Ben won’t make a big deal out of it, at least not on purpose. He might stammer and might flush and might give Sammy a sloppy grin when he notices, but he won’t make it a spectacle.

He isn’t _afraid_. He’s adjusting. He’s learning. It’s been so long since he ever wore the ring. Even before Jack left, he would keep it on a chain around his neck, lest anyone see it on his finger and ask one too many questions. The metal isn’t as cold as he thought it would be. 

The show goes on, and it’s fine. Sammy flinches when he picks up his coffee and the ring clinks against the mug, but Ben doesn’t notice. He doesn’t mind if Ben notices. He doesn’t. But he sits there, overwhelmingly aware of the ring, as if thinking about it is enough to will it away.

“Sammy,” Ben says eventually, collecting their valuables to hide from whoever is coming into their station. “I- is that-” he stops himself, chewing on his words.

“What,” Sammy asks, checking around him to make sure there’s nothing else he holds dear.

“Is that- is that, like, a ring?”

“What?” Sammy says, genuinely not paying enough attention to what he’s saying, preoccupied with the concern for his phone.

“On your hand,” he says. “You’re wearing- are you wearing a ring?”

Sammy looks down as if seeing it for the first time, and for a moment he feels like he is. “I am,” he says, far more confident than he feels.

Ben’s confusion seems to grow. “Hav- have you worn that before, because I don’t remember seein-”

“A long time ago,” Sammy says, because he knows Ben will catch on to what he’s saying. 

And he does. “Oh,” Ben says, quietly, and he looks like he might drop their things. 

“Let’s not make a big deal out of it,” Sammy says, partially because he can feel his hands shaking again and partially because he doesn’t want Ben to fall over.

“No, no-” Ben says, spluttering, and he smiles so kindly it sends a pang of _something_ through Sammy’s chest. It’s the kind of smile he reserves for when he’s with Emily, or when Sammy manages to come up with a particularly good insult for Grisham or HFB? or whoever they’re fighting with. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, “I just- that- that’s cool, that’s really cool, Sammy.”

Sammy smiles too, not nearly as wide as Ben but almost as happy. “Thank you. Now, _please_ just lock up our valuables before this madman arrives.” 

Ben raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly at Sammy’s finger. “Do- do you want me to lock that up too?”

A ring in Sammy’s pocket. A ring that doesn’t run like he does or rust like his heart is or rattle like a key in a lock. A ring that sits in his jacket (the one that is too big, the one that Ben assumes is purposefully too large, the one that would fit someone just about Sammy’s height but with broader shoulders), loose and unguarded. A ring that was never hidden in a box or a drawer, but that was sealed off all the same.

“It’s been locked up far too long,” Sammy says quietly. 

Ben smiles. “Got it.”

“It’ll be fine right here with me,” Sammy says, convincing himself just as much as Ben, telling himself that he isn’t letting this leave his finger that quickly. “I’d like to see _anyone_ try and take this from me.”

And Ben leaves, and Sammy cuts to commercial, and his hands aren’t shaking anymore.

Sammy twists the ring back and forth, and he lets himself think of Jack Wright. He wonders if he can hear him.

_Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._

_These, our bodies, possessed by light._

It is quiet in the car as they drive.

They’re tuned into King Falls AM, 660 on the radio dial, and nothing is playing. Just dead air and decidedly _not_ a ghost of Sammy’s fiance.

If it weren’t for everyone else who heard it, Sammy would have thought it was just that- a ghost. But Ben was there, Lily was there, Emily was there. Their own little prophecy gang. And Jack was not there, because whoever that was who called into their station was _not_ Jack.

It used to be, though. And that thought scared Sammy more than anything else.

Jack wanted him to come home. He wanted Sammy to come home to him. And Sammy- Sammy ran, like he always did, his gut instinct, getting in a car and driving away and listening to dead fucking air playing on the radio. He wonders if anyone heard it, if anyone was tuned in. He wonders where they are driving.

Lily is sitting next to him, and if this were any other night, she would have made a joke about good ol’ Shotgun stuck in the backseat, but it is not any other night, and her cheeks are as tearstained as his own. She’s holding his hand, and he can’t remember the last time they had touched in a way that wasn’t playful punches or not playful punches. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, but he doesn’t mind.

She heard Jack too. It wasn’t just a ghost, wasn’t just a spectre for Sammy to watch fade away.

Orpheus and Eurydice, again and again. The ring on his finger is heavy and cold.

When they reach the secret place, Sammy is numb. He knows this feeling, knows it from the days after the Devil’s Doorstep, knows it from the days after he found the bag in the entryway and found the car running. He doesn’t know what to think. He lets go of Lily’s hand to get out of the car, but she finds him again once they’re inside.

Sammy doesn’t know where Ben and Emily are, what they are doing, but he goes to his cot in the far corner of the room, sits down, ignores the creak. Lily sits with him. He turns the radio on.

It’s automatically tuned to King Falls AM. There’s music playing, he doesn’t know how. Bells, guitar. Sammy knows what song it is before the first words are sung.

The church bells in town, all ringing in song, full of happy sounds- baby, _please_ come home.

That’s when Sammy cries.

He and Lily sit there for a long time, long enough that several songs have played by the time Emily touches his shoulder and brushes a strand of his hair out of his face. “Hey,” she says quietly. 

“Someone’s playing music from the station,” Sammy says, because he doesn’t know what else he _can_ say. He looks at Lily, hollow eyes meeting hollower, and he squeezes her hand.

“We’re going to bring him home,” Emily whispers.

“It isn’t even him anymore,” Lily whispers back.

“No,” Sammy says, voice hoarse, “but maybe we can bring him back. Save him.”

“What if we can’t. What if it isn’t him.”

“It will be,” Emily says, voice stronger than Sammy has ever heard it. Her eyes glint. “It will be.”

Sammy closes his eyes. “Okay,” he says. 

“Who am I to argue with Emily Potter?” Lily says.

Sammy smiles, just a little, and Lily smiles, just a little less, and Emily brushes her hand through Sammy’s hair and holds Lily’s other hand.

“We’re going to bring him home,” she says again.

Sammy twists the ring on his finger, and he doesn’t believe her yet, but maybe he could, eventually.

Maybe.

_Tell me we’ll never get used to it._

_-scheherazade, richard siken_


End file.
